


Fox and the Hound

by DocLeech



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Look it's all just OCs, M/M, RP formatted to be a fic because I'm lazy, Slow Burn, There will be pining, like super slow burn, no canon characters here unless it's a reference of some kind, there will be comfort and drama and angst and funny times and bad times, this is just a fic FULL OF OCs, tweaked game mechanics too, we are all in for a fucking roller coaster ride
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 19:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21041717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DocLeech/pseuds/DocLeech
Summary: When an annoying RED Spy accidentally stumbles into a grumpy BLU Sniper nest while on the run for his life, sparks will fly! And not just the battle kind, either.[This is a very, very slow burn Original Character focused role play-turned-fanfiction. That is to say, there are NO CANON characters in this fic, unless they are a reference of some kind. This is written between a friend and myself, which will explain the weird formatting and why it seems like it jumps between the two characters perspectives. Alex is written by myself and Charles is written by my friend. Even without the presence of canon characters we want to share these two idiots and hope that you enjoy reading this journey they are going to take! From enemies to... Who knows? :> ]





	Fox and the Hound

This Pyro was persistent, Alexander would give them that.

All the way from just outside of RED base, through the central arena, even through the tunnels and alcoves this fire wielding _demon_ was determined to burn up a certain RED Spy. And where was the rest of his team when he needed them? It didn't help that earlier in the fight a particularly speedy Scout had zipped by, cracking his bat against Alex's cloaking device sending the damn thing on the fritz. He had tried to find their Engineer to see if maybe something could be done on the field, a quick fix, but he had been regretfully told that it would have to wait until ceasefire was called. Hindsight was 20/20 and Alex knew now he should have just stayed next to the dispenser until the day was done but no. His pride wouldn't let him do that. He had to be helpful!

Well nearly getting burned to a crisp no less than three times now wasn't exactly helpful.

The last time he had been too close to that Pyro the bastard managed to flame up part of his back and shoulder pretty good before Alex had lept off the roof he had been sneaking on, into the water below. The Spy was just lucky he hadn't broken his legs, and more so that the Pyro decided to take the long way down. It gave him enough time to pull his soggy ass out of the water and scramble to find his next hiding place, leaving an unfortunate trail of blood to follow. His blind panic was leading him much deeper into BLU territory than he wanted but he knew doubling back now would be more problematic in the long run. He just had to find a place to hole away, then when the sirens called he would just sneak back into RED base after the field was clear.

That was his hope anyway.

Revolver in hand, bleeding terribly and feeling his legs getting weaker Alexander pressed further into the large barn like structure that composed the battlefield part of BLU base. Steps were quick but silent, hugging the walls at every corner and doorway and straining his ears to hear past the distant sounds of battle for anyone wandering around the base. A few times he had narrowly avoided crossing paths with someone, sticking to the wall as tightly as he could when he saw a Medic and a Scout run by. Those moments he barely heard anything past the thundering sound of his heartbeat in his own ears. Time was running out, it wouldn't be long before that Pyro caught him, or he ran into an enemy Spy. He did not want that.

Up two flights of stairs, quiet as he could be, until he heard voices behind him. It was the Pyro and someone else, he couldn't tell... Something about an injured Spy in the base, you go upstairs and I'll check over there. Inwardly Alexander cursed, quickly scanning the room for an escape. This was the usual area to find lingering Snipers but it looked empty... Did BLU not have a Sniper? Alex was alarmed he couldn't remember, but in his defense a lot of his blood was splattered all over the ground elsewhere.

And that's when he saw salvation.

Another set of stairs leading up, smaller and narrower, that ended at a hatch. He had been snooping around his own base enough to know that the Industries had just given the bases a bit of a revamp not long ago. Now, granted he didn't know what BLU used this for, he knew RED used it for extra storage and at this point was just banking on it being the same. Quickly he scrambled up the steps and grabbed the heavy latch on the door, using his uninjured shoulder to ease it upwards. More and more until he could worm his skinny body into the opening, getting caught when it pressed into the raw, exposed skin on his back and it knocked the wind right out of him. He wheezed and forced himself through, blinking back stinging tears as he whipped around to catch the hatch at the edges and lower it down so it didn't slam. If the Pyro decided to come busting through anyway, he was done for, so he lifted his head to scan around the room, trying to see if there was anything heavy he could move over the hatch for now.

But then it dawned on him that the reason he might not have seen any of the BLU snipers was because they were there instead...

"_Merde_..."

The _crack_ of the rifle. The _slide-click_ reload, concurrent to the _ting_ of an empty shell clattering on wood. RED after RED made cordial introductions of themselves in Charles’ scope. No doubt some of them had been made complacent by the stretch without a Sniper on BLU -- while the seasoned veterans, it was just second nature not to stop, never move predictably. And for that, they might earn only a passing but no-less-brutal body shot as hello, further embedding the wisdom of _never stop moving_.

Not like Charles. He’d settled in well. Aside from the sway-back of recoil and fluid motion of reloading in turn, he kept so still that only the slight twitches of a toothpick at his lips gave any indication he was not just a machine set down in a cramped little room to shoot at REDs. He knew it was only a matter of time until someone tore away from the main fray to retaliate, pinning down the window his rifle barrel jutted out from, but for the time being? Charles’ bullets hadn’t given anyone the chance, and he’d fallen into a comfortable routine that looked anything but.

Perched stiffly on the edge of a box, he shouldered a hefty-looking pack still carrying its camping supplies. Around him, stacks of crates and building materials were piled up haphazardly. Far from inspiring claustrophobia, Charles had welcomed the cramped quarters. The mess would serve well as cover for any close-range encounters, but even that seemed unlikely. What RED would go this far out of their way into BLU base, then have the presence of mind to even spot the room? In any case, the hatch was unwieldy enough that Charles would have ample time to hear anyone trying to enter -- _like now_.

Straightening immediately, he tore his gaze from the scope of his rifle, ears straining to confirm what he’d heard. A quiet wheeze at the back of the room was enough to have Charles on his feet in an instant, the pot that dangled from his backpack clanging against an empty jar as he quickly set down his rifle in favor of the kukri on the window sill. It was not something he wanted to acknowledge in the moment, but Charles’ heart was hammering in his chest as he whirled around to advance on the intruder. Ducking around crates and rolls of wire, it took only a couple strides for Charles to see red, literally RED, the toothpick between his bared teeth snapping as he clenched his jaw and _swung_. 

It was the only proper response he could think to give such a rude introduction, really.

That was a _very_ upset Sniper. Of course it just _had_ to be a Sniper! Why couldn't he had just been a... a pigeon or something?! Alex would happily take an angry pigeon over a blade wielding enemy.

"No, no, no!" was going to be his repeated mantra, grey eyes snapping wide as he was advanced on. He ducked well in time to avoid that initial attack, hammering heart jumping to his throat when he heard how the sharp blade was swung so fast there was the faint sound of ringing metal in the air before there was a solid thunk of it in the wood where his head was just moments prior. This man was, as they put it, not fucking around.

The only upper hand Alex had in these panicked moments was that he was rather... wiggly. A twig of a human, really, thin enough to get into places he shouldn't be with alarming frequency. He had an intimate relationship with air ducts and vents these days. "_S'il vous plaît_, stop!" given all the circumstances that put them both in this situation he was aware that was a largely stupid thing to ask someone to do and just hope they had a kind heart. The Spy would duck and dart out of the way of the blade the best he could, anything he bumped into would be marked with a smear of red from his back and he would make no effort to attack in return. Truth be told the only thing he really had on him was his balisong but under no circumstances did he want to be close enough to use it against someone that knew he was there. The kukri would dice him up before he even got a chance to do something remotely effective.

"Please, please just listen!" he stumbled back over his own feet just a few seconds before there was a loud, heavy pounding on the hatch door. The Spy was pressed against a wall by now, having danced his way around the room to one side as he continued to avoid becoming stew meat. There were the extra muffled sounds of a Pyro on the other side, it sounded like they were calling for the Sniper or asking if he had seen a Spy. Alex let out a whine, trying to think... think of what he could do. It was either face the Sniper alone or that man would let the Pyro in and he was doomed. Hacked up or burnt to a crisp or both...

It was a split second choice he came to when he reached up and pulled his own mask up off his head, holding it in one hand while both were up, palms out, a passive gesture. The shock of white amongst the brown may be enough to give a tiny pause, his face would have been better if he wasn't sporting a bruised eye and broken, bleeding nose - this guy was already having a day, wasn't he. But it was never in a Spy's best interest to reveal themselves, so he was hoping the "grand reveal" would make the Sniper question his motives.

"I don't want to die." he said slowly, "I don't want to 'urt you... I don't want your Pyro to burn me." well, anymore than they already had, at least, "_Please_."

Wasn’t that so like a Spy, to be so _bloody_ slippery. Charles recognized the RED immediately for what he was, that ridiculous suit so like his own team’s Spy, and yet… Nothing like he’d been warned about. Weren’t spooks supposed to be _stealthy_? Their little dance among the stacks was anything but, and as Charles continued to swing his kukri, always just seconds behind, he could not help but feel a dull sort of surprise at hearing the Spy plead with him. And no wonder -- each near-miss left behind gouges from his blade, but Charles was pleased to see blood, too. So the Spy was already injured. This wouldn’t last much longer.

It would, however, be deferred as the sudden battering at the hatch caused Charles to freeze, rangy body visibly tensing as his snarl deepened. The Spy seemed to realize first what that pounding at their feet was, and to say his reaction to it was unexpected would be an understatement. Charles’ face fell into a blank, imperceptible mask as he watched the Spy unmask him_self_, the other man’s pathetic visage reflected back coldly in the mirror sheen of the Sniper’s motionless aviators.

The Pyro was still calling out, in that incomprehensible way that they did, and Charles finally reacted again. He slowly edged to the hatch -- never giving the Spy his back -- just as the other BLU began to lift it, a flash of indignant fury driving him to heft it roughly open out of the Pyro’s gloved hands. Charles wasted no time making his displeasure known. _“What the blazes are you doin’?!”_ his voice a throaty bark as he stared his teammate down with a white-knuckled grip on the kukri at his side.

“I’m _tryin’_ to do my job here, if you could do yours worth a damn you wouldn’t’ve lost the bloody _spook_!” 

Charles slammed the hatch back down. He did not wait to hear what, if any, response the Pyro might have babbled. What mattered was that no one was coming through the hatch again. What mattered more, though, was the Spy that was still here. 

Lifting his gaze to address the hapless RED, there was that abrupt change in Charles’ demeanor again. All that frantic rage that had propelled him before had been seemingly shut out with the Pyro as his voice dropped to a low drone. “Don’t want to hurt me. You ‘spect me to believe that.”

Treading over the hatch, Charles began to close the distance between them again with businesslike ease, one slender hand extended in a comforting gesture, as though he meant to pat the Spy on the (injured) shoulder. He wanted to drive his nails into that wounded flesh. The languid swinging up and down of the kukri in his other hand made clear his true intentions. 

“I’ll make it quick.”

This was an actual nightmare.

There were a lot of things Alex expected to happen, but the Sniper's anger and yelling was not one of them. He wasn't even the one being yelled at but Alex felt like he was in trouble and needed to go put himself in time out. Those fleeting moments the Pyro was being berated, Alex took it upon himself to try and figure out if there was another exit. There was one, a window and it had the Sniper's rifle near it, likely among other things he couldn't see. That was just as bad of an idea, even if he could get out he'd either die from the fall or if by some miracle his neck didn't snap on impact he'd find a bullet in his head in a matter of seconds, a gimp fish in a tiny barrel.

So those were his options. Death or bartering.

The booming sound of the hatch slamming shut was more like a nail in a coffin. The resounding silence that followed drew his grey gaze from the window to the approaching Sniper and his stomach bottomed out. That was a demeanor he was familiar with, and none of the reasons why were good. A cold dread bubbled into his throat like a lazy snake and immediately he had to fight back the urge to drop to his knees, leaning against the wall behind him despite how the rough texture of the wood bit into his wounds like an angry dogs teeth.

Panicked, but not stupid. The true intention of the extended hand coming at him was enough to wrack some sense into his brain and Alex darted again, managing to get himself over a sizeable crate to effectively put it between them. It was _just_ wide enough on all sides he was kept a hair's width out of range of the kukri, as long as he could try to predict where to move next.

"I do not expect you to believe me, _non_." his eyes weren't leaving the other man now, "I could tell you the truth or a lie, and you will believe what you want. But," and for a just a moment he was able to steel his gaze enough to level a determined look at the Sniper, "For everything I am worth, I am a man of my word. One of your Scouts broke my cloaking device, I cannot disguise, my gun 'as been jammed for _two_ days and I 'ave a toothpick compared to your weapon. By all means, you are the big dog in the room right now." he reached up slowly with his free hand, trying to be as non threatening as possible as he gingerly touched at his bloody nose, before he'd keep going,  
"That last place I wanted to be was 'ere. I wanted to go back to base but that damned _fire breathing demon_ chased me 'ere instead. Give me a little credit for making it this far." he tried with a sheepish, bloody smirk. As quick as it was there it dropped again, Alex blinking back exhaustion, "Please, _monsieur_, I can't... I can't go through that machine again..." honestly, it was a legitimate fear. Everyone knew that the crazy "Respawn" system implemented by their employers to keep the war ever going was questionable even on it's best days. The horror stories were real people coming back through mutilated, sick, not knowing who they were, or not coming out at all were just among the few genuine fears. Coming back out just fine on the other side was a gamble that no one wanted to take. Plus, they were keeping count - rack up a high enough number and, sure, you were taken out of the war but more than likely only through a body bag. No one would ever leave.

Whoever said the pay was worth it was a liar.

Alex flexed his fingers along the edge of the crate, really using it to help keep himself up more than anything at this point. "I just want to make it to ceasefire. Please."

The slight twinge of his split eyebrow was the only indication of Charles’ annoyance, not that the Spy could very well see this tell under the brim of his tooth-ringed hat. Here he was, trying to be magnanimous and offer a far cleaner death than that Pyro would have done, and _still_ the RED wormed away. For a brief moment, Charles felt the urge to explain himself, everything he’d read about -- it really _would_ be quick; the kukri was an incredibly efficient and ingeniously constructed weapon, and Charles was almost positive he could pull off a clean beheading, if only the Spy would just cooperate. 

...Weren’t the French supposed to know all about decapitation?

At least, he guessed at French for that accent coloring the RED’s words. Sounded enough like their own Spy, Polo, who was very clear in explaining he was _extremely_ French, from Europe, downright Parisian. Charles was beginning to hate Spies.

So it was strange that he found himself listening anyway, standing stock-still on the other side of the crate as the Spy rattled off misery after misfortune. Being called “the big dog” could have almost inspired amusement in Charles, but he chided himself: _he’s only trying to butter you up._

Still, he did not speak up. Behind the reflective sheen of his glasses, the Sniper’s eyes were darting all across his enemy’s form, taking in everything. The torn, bloodied suit. That bruised and battered face that, come to think of it, didn’t look _that_ old to warrant such a shock of white hair. Stress? It sure sounded like the Spy was trying to paint a picture of just how stressed he was, how defenseless and innocent.

After that final plea, a long silence stretched between them, teetering on awkward. Charles had settled his gaze back onto the other man’s face again, studying him, weapon long since stopped its restless swaying as his arms drooped at his sides. This should have been easy. Charles was a BLU Sniper. _That_ over there was a RED Spy. But he’d made the mistake of listening, and now words were rattling inside his head, wanting to come out. 

“You’re pathetic,” he finally said. There was no animosity in his tone, despite the bluntness of the statement. If anything, there was a tinge of wonder to it.

“How’re you gonna make it t’ceasefire? You think I’m gonna babysit a skunk like you? Or d’you want an armed escort back? _Tch_.”

It was clear by his dismissive, drawling mumble that Charles wasn’t exactly a public speaker. No, he didn’t much care for speaking at all, and the Spy had had a _lot_ to say. He felt some creeping shame in the back of his mind -- for how cleanly the RED had laid out his disadvantages, Charles actually ended up feeling _intimidated_ in this moment. Because when it came to words, he was always at a loss. He wasn’t sure he could argue if this continued. 

As casual as anything, Charles shrugged off his backpack. The kit landed behind him with a loud _whump_ as he explained, not quite apologetically, “I _have_ to kill you, that’s just facts.” And then he lunged, more agile now, vaulting himself over the crate to get at the Spy and shut him up for good.

The absolute bluntness of the statement was enough to pull an abrupt, albeit bloody, snort from Alex. It curled a momentary half grin to his face and a hard, short laugh left him. "Pathetic? Ahh, I 'ave 'eard that one before." it was a broad enough statement of his own to mean any number of things. What the Sniper said next did make him frown a touch, brows pinching. "Rude." was his own utterance before silence settled on them again. It was long and awkward and Alex had the growing feeling he wasn't going to get out of this as easily as he had hoped. It was like a cold coil curling up his spine, tightening the muscles past pain to prepare him to _move_.

Snipers were always particularly hard to read, but this one telegraphed himself well enough. With force but not enough leverage Alex also lunged, though he went to the side instead of forward. Pain exploded through him as his shoulder collided with another crate but also as fresh hot blood started to liberally pour from the new wound cleaved into his side, just beneath the ribs. He saw stars behind his eyes as he staggered forward, ignoring how the world spun around him, to make a beeline towards the window. More specifically, the rifle sitting nearby it.

The Spy scrambled to put distance between them, skidding into the crate Charles had been perched on before he had been so rudely interrupted, and in one fluid motion Alex reached to hoist the rifle up and whipped around to train it on the Sniper's chest. Just because he said his gun was jammed didn't mean he didn't know how to use them and his finger hovered just above the trigger, trembling only slightly with the effort it took to hold the weapon. The Spy's breathing was labored and there was a soft pitter-patter of blood as the pool around his feet grew larger by the second. He was scrappy, this one. Or maybe the more appropriate word was stubborn.

"No babysitting. No escort." he managed a faint snicker, "... I was going to ask you for a cigarette, at the very least, but you got me too good." when the Spy had first taken off his mask there had been some color in his face but he was rapidly approaching the hue of porcelain. Too much blood loss, too much pain.

From where he was standing Alex was within the frame of the window and he could see outside. There was a... glint. Something familiar and questioning across the way. A deep, _tired_ sigh finally rolled out of the Frenchman, tension starting to unwind from his wiry frame. "_Merde_... Fine." was that defeat? Was the Spy waving a metaphorical tiny white flag? Perhaps the man had realized there was no escape - he was either going to bleed to death or get stabbed, and at least getting stabbed would be quicker.

Alex started to lower the gun a bit, leveling a look at the Sniper. "You know, there are two Spies on RED. I 'ope you don't ever run into the other one. 'e takes 'is job more seriously," there was a pause as a corner of his mouth quirked up, "Whereas I am just the annoying one." and hopefully the Sniper wouldn't be prepared for what followed. Alex moved suddenly, holding the rifle more like a club than a gun, and swung. But there was no way he would be able to cover the distance between them... Oh, no. It was because the Sniper wasn't his target, the window was. Furthermore, once the rifle shattered the glass Alex simply let it go and that baby went _sailing_ into the dreadfully wide, open area below. A splash of mud was kicked up from the goopy puddle it landed in and for a single second, Alex felt victorious! Before he felt weak. A gurgly wheeze left him as he slumped back against the crate and slid down to sit, the wood absolutely coated in red behind him. "Ha... haaaa. Consider that payback." Payback for what? Why, the brutal murder the Sniper was about to commit, of course!

Ah. It was an entire world of difference from the clean, distant drop of a perfectly executed headshot, but Charles could not deny that there was something just as satisfying, if not moreso, in _feeling_ the damage he’d done -- the impact travelling up his arm as the blade finally found purchase, however soft and fleeting, gouging through flesh and coming away with a cascade of blood. _Yes, YES,_ his thoughts raced like the baying of hunting hounds as he gave chase with surging adrenaline.

Just as quickly as he felt himself coming alive, however, Charles’ heart nearly stopped when he jerked back abruptly to keep from running into his _own rifle_ now leveled against him. Oh. This Spy had brains after all. Or maybe it was a split-second decision on spotting the abandoned gun… didn’t matter. The end result was the same: Charles was momentarily subdued, hunched and motionless, but looking no less ready to pounce at the slightest hint of the RED faltering.

Didn’t take a dead-eyed Sniper to see the Frenchman was clearly on his last legs, pale-faced and only growing paler in stark contrast to the red draining from him. But for all Charles was taking in with darting eyes -- and just how many times would he find himself staring at this Spy? -- he missed what the other man had apparently seen. And in spite of himself, as much as he disliked the RED talking _even now_, he couldn’t help but respond defiantly at this talk of another Spy.

“You tryin’ to scare me, mate? All—”

Charles didn’t get to finish that thought as he flinched away from the other man’s sudden move, but it wasn’t the familiar clap of gunfire that rang out, it was… Glass. The window, shattering, and with realization came the Sniper adding his own voice to the cacophony with a shocked yell, scrambling for the window as though he could possibly hope to catch the rifle that was going, going, _gone_. Completely disrespected as it landed in the muck below.

He didn’t even think about the fact that his back was to the Spy now, bent at the window sill to stare down at his unceremoniously discarded weapon. Charles’ own breathing was audible too, coming quick and noisily from flaring nostrils as his tensed form shook with the effort to restrain the rage he felt churning in his chest. 

More than anything, he wanted to round on the Spy and hack him to pieces. None of the efficiency the blade was made for, but a flurry of brutal chopping, stabbing, _rending_ until the RED was completely unrecognizable. 

Except that would be giving into anger, _acknowledging_ it, and that the Spy had been the one to inspire it… that was the worst admission.

But. The issue of said Spy bleeding out with each passing second. That would kind of undo the fantasy of drawing out the pain, wouldn’t it, if he just up and died right there before Charles could even do anything.

So he finally pulled himself from the window to deal with the other man, willing himself to stay calm. His mouth was drawn into a taut, _very_ taut line, the muscles of his thin face twitching as he crouched down. He wanted for that grim countenance to be the last thing the Spy saw, that he might see how very _not mad_ Charles was as he killed him not for vengeance, but for BLU, because he was just doing his job now. 

One hand slid into the white of Alex’s hair, gently pushing it back from his clammy face -- then roughly yanking it up, pulling him taught and baring his neck. With a powerful swing of his kukri, Charles made good on his initial offer and decapitated the RED.

That he straightened himself up to his full height immediately afterward, still holding his reward tightly before him to scream hoarse, unheard promises, well. That would just have to stay his little secret.

Delirium set on by blood loss was beginning to take hold. An airy feeling in the head from breaths that didn't make the cut for his failing body and a rapidly darkening vision. So, unfortunately, that last look the Sniper was trying to give him was lost on the Spy. Forget one foot, he was half in the grave from the waist down by now. The gentle touch, though incredibly fleeting, did draw a reaction from the man - a slight upward tilt of defined brows and lips barely parted in a soft sigh. But just as fast as it was there the pain that flared across his scalp made him pull his lips back in a hard grimace, eyes pinched shut.

Thankfully, not even that lasted long.

Then it was clockwork after that, ten seconds could be counted out and with his next blink it would all be gone for Charles. No limp, headless body on the floor, no prized head to yell at, not even a trace of blood on anything. Nothing but memories and shattered glass all over the floor to linger with him now.  
However, in RED base it was a different story. Alex jolted back to awareness with a hard, raspy gasp, a wave of vertigo washing over him with enough force he stumbled into a nearby supply closet. There was always a Medic on duty in the respawn room, usually there to just make sure that people came out how they should and there weren't any unfortunate accidents. Those happened all too frequently though, and it had been within the last year or so the Industries had implemented the rotating schedules for base Medics.

"Spy? I am surprised to see _you_ here." the Medic was short and a bit fat with a round face but cold, distant eyes. Whatever he was saying Alex couldn't hear over the sound of his own retching, doubled over on to the floor as bile burned his throat and nose. The Medic sighed, unamused but aware this particular Spy had respawn issues on the regular. "I will get your medication." a faint pat to his shoulders as Alex wheezed and nodded before he was able to pull himself up onto a bench and slump against the cool tile wall. He reached up to wipe acidic dribble from his mouth and dropped his hand to slide under the edge of his mask. The scar was deep for now and swallowing felt like he was suffering from a horrendous sore throat but he was alive again, there was that. Memories in check and all his body parts. Good.

A moment later the Medic returned with a small paper cup containing two pills and a larger one full of water. The pills were kicked back and the water guzzled down, despite the faint chiding he could hear about it. "_Merci_." he breathed with a nod, tipping his head back until everything just. Stopped. His whole body ached and he knew it would be hell tomorrow. Perhaps he would benefit from being curled up in a corner in his own base then. Buuuut he had to get through the rest of the day, first.

Fingers wrenched his mask up enough to pull his little communicator out of his ear, fiddling with the dial on the side to get it lined up with a small notch, then returning it. "I saw you." he muttered in a voice much hoarser than usual as he closed his eyes, focusing on breathing deep. There was a string of colorful curses on the other line before a loud shot rang off.  
"God damnit Spooks! What the hell were you thinking?!" ah yes, there it was. Perfect. Alex smiled, nodding a silent thanks to the Medic as he forced himself up to slowly make his way out.  
"I wasn't."  
"I could have taken him... It was the Sniper, wasn't it?"  
"_Oui_. But _mademoiselle_ Remmy, I 'ave a request for you."  
"M'listenin'."  
"You see the gun on the ground there? The Sniper gun?"  
"Sure. Got a beat on it."  
"_Excellent_. Don't let anyone get to it. Take a few pot shots at the Sniper, cripple him if you must but do not kill him. I will be there to collect it momentarily."  
"Wh-wha-wait. You threw his gun outside just to... take it? What kind of game are you playin' at, Spooks?"  
"The one that I win at. But can you do that for me? I will owe you after. Spy 'onor." there was a snort from the voice on the other line, then a moment of silence. Alex was already moving quicker through RED base now, determined to claim his ill begotten prize before his "friendly" Sniper could.  
"Fine. But be careful, damnit."  
"Why, miss Remmy I am the epitome of careful!" he purred softly, words rolling off his tongue like sick, poisoned honey.  
"You're an idiot is what you are. Make it quick." _click_.

For the next several minutes there was a _VERY_ aggressive red dot keeping tabs on that rifle. Anyone that got so much as within a few feet of it was met with a headshot or, worse, a body shot that would send them whimpering to the nearest dispenser or medic. Everyone except Charles, for the most part, if he dared to attempt to retrieve his gun he would get the unbelievably deafening warning shots. And if he were stupid enough to try and charge for the gun, he'd be getting a bullet straight to just above the kneecap. And all of this? Just so, eventually, Alex could slink his way from one end of the area to the other, sneaking through the shadows and then swoop in to grab the rifle. It was incredibly dangerous and INCREDIBLY stupid! But what was even more stupid was what he called out when he got the gun.

"_Monsieur_ Sniper, I will see you at ceasefire~"

After Respawn had reclaimed the RED Spy, the head vanishing from Charles’ clenched fist, his eyelids fluttered and the shrill threats he’d been shouting died in his throat as he remembered where he was. Standing alone in a cramped little storage room in a saw mill that wasn’t _actually_ a saw mill, but a battlefield for a bunch of colorful mercenaries to kill each other over and over again. The Spy wouldn’t stay gone, and he was a Sniper without a rifle. Right.

Eyes sliding shut, quickly coming down from his momentary lapse, Charles pushed out a sigh and felt regret. Not for the decapitation, because as he saw it that was just a mercy from a slow death of exsanguination. But for the entire ordeal. For not getting it over with sooner, not letting the Pyro in when he’d had the chance, for listening to the RED’s words -- speaking of, he’d mentioned wanting a cigarette, hadn’t he? That sounded pretty good right about now. 

Finally returning his (eerily clean again) kukri to his belt, Charles moved to where he’d dropped his backpack what felt like an eternity ago before thinking better of it. “...Have some restraint, Charles,” he muttered quietly to himself. Bad enough he’d had that little meltdown; he didn’t exactly deserve a smoke break right now. 

Pulling his backpack on, he’d just have to make do with a fresh toothpick from his pocket to chew over as he considered his predicament. It occurred to him that he might ask a teammate to fetch his rifle -- certainly that Soldier, Lassie or whatever, would love that -- but just as quickly he discarded the idea. No one would help him. Asking would be pathetic. He derided himself for even considering it, and for how drained he felt as he lifted the hatch and made his descent.

Charles loped down stairs, moving quickly through the base. He didn’t want to run into anyone, RED _or_ BLU, and have to answer for why he carried only a blade. But this was very, very clearly not meant to be his day as a Scout rounded the corner, speeding by, only to very visibly double-take with a yelp of _”Hey!”_ Fuck.

That would be Buenaventura, scurrying up to Charles and already blustering on. “Hey, what the fuck, man! Whaddya think you’re doin’ disrespecting my Pybro?!”

Even if Charles _wanted_ to reply, the Scout did not give him a chance, getting up in his face and jabbing a finger in his chest. “You got a real freakin’ attitude problem, you know? You think this loner thing is cool?” 

The kid always went on like he was the team coach and it could’ve been funny if it weren’t so goddamn _annoying_. But Charles, in true Charles fashion, forced himself to remain impassive in the face of Bennie clearly trying to rile him up. Wasn’t sure how long he could keep it up, if the kid kept poking him like that, but for the time being… 

“—and no will _ever_ like you ‘cause you always—wait. Where’s your gun?”

Ah, shit.

“...Outside,” Charles deadpanned, and for a split, merciful second, there was silence as Bennie shot him a look of confusion, falling into revelation, vaulting into incredulity.

“You’re kiddin’ me. Like you dropped it.”  
“No.” 

But apparently, Bennie liked the image of that more than any explanation Charles could’ve (but _never_ would’ve) given, and he didn’t press on any longer. With a cruel little laugh, “Serves you right! _¡Come mierda!_”, the Scout was dashing off again. 

So much for the virtues of being a team player. Charles gritted his teeth, toothpick jutting upward, and broke into a run after him. He had to get this over with. Just a mad dash out, probably no one was even paying attention, he’d snatch it up and turn right around -- 

Bennie was waiting for him outside. He’d wanted to see for himself, and sure enough, there was the rifle looking so sad and alone in the mud, its owner looking so dumb as he huffed and puffed from out of the base, one hand pressed down on his head to keep his cheap hat on. What else could the Scout do but _laugh?_, pointing a finger at Charles and cackling wildly until a loud crack, like a thunderclap, cut through the air and smote him where he stood. 

Even Charles couldn’t help but jump, stumbling backwards into the safety of the base and staring, wide-eyed behind his aviators, at the fallen body of his teammate. Of course there would be a Sniper out there. _Of course_.  
He could see the red dot of the laser sight now, so brashly settled on his rifle. He wondered if the other Sniper was laughing at him. He paced, for just a moment, before stopping himself. _Keep your head, Charles. There’s something to be done,_ he told himself, but was there really? 

He tried edging out into the open and some very, _very_ close warning shots drove him back into the doorway. The RED Sniper was onto him, alright, and prolonging this. Could’ve focused anywhere else, but the rifle was clearly being guarded like it was an intel case. This was a sick game the RED was playing.

Or rather, RED_s_: A grand entrance was made from stage right -- that very same RED Spy from before, back on his feet and entirely whole, looking to be in much lighter spirits as he nabbed the muddied gun. The Spy’s promise had barely a moment to register in Charles’ panicked mind as he barked back a half-astonished, half-enraged _”NO!”_ and, throwing all care to the wind, charged after him.

Ah yes, the mastermind behind all of the plight Charles had been dealing with recently and the man indirectly responsible for the headache from _hell_ that poor Scout was about to be suffering, there he was in the flesh! Even with the new information there were two Spies on RED there wasn't a doubt that was the one the Sniper had beheaded just a few minutes before. No one could be as _annoyingly charming when being a shit_ as that one could.

In all of the chaos of the battlefield raging around them, that moment seemed to slow down to an almost stand still for Alex. The Spy was back pedaling with a cheeky grin and light in his eyes that suggested he _loved_ the chase! The pounding of his blood in his ears like a war drum, his heart hammering in his chest as excitement gave his body renewed energy. One hand holding the strap of the rifle tightly while the other was pulling away from his forehead in a mock salute... And Charles there, charging for him, face twisted in what Alex could catch as rage and surprise at this turn of events. The Spy couldn't get much more than that from the Sniper, but he could guess. He could guess _accurately_.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alex wondered if the Sniper had ever wanted to hack someone to bits as much as he could assume this one wanted to do to him. The whole scene was rather picturesque if you asked him, but probably don't do that. Might make him seem a little more out of his mind than intended.

_CRACK-BANG!!_

Not even half a second later Alexander heard the sharp whistle of a bullet whizzing past his head and promptly after his eyes snapped open wider when there was a vicious spurt of blood from the side of the Sniper's head. He balked and stopped on a dime, raising a hand up in a closed fist - a silent command to stop firing from his ever watching protection. His first concern, though he would never admit it, was that Remmy had killed the other Sniper. He had specifically said to not do that (at least for now)! But as he stood there dumbfounded and unmoving he realized it had not, in fact, been a headshot. Rather there was a painfully large chunk missing from the Sniper's ear. The ghosts of knicks, bullet holes, and other various wounds burned along his own ears in silent sympathy because as temporary as most damage was for them, it still hurt full force.

While Charles was dealing with that Alex wheeled around, noticing the red dot trained on his chest, and proceeded to make general 'what the fuck' hand gestures looking absolutely incredulous about it all.

"I'm buying you time, get out of there. Can't have ya dyin' twice in one day, Spooks." _click_.

Right. Charles was still there and now Alex had his back to him. Alex felt the same sensation as one did when they had to turn off the light and then sprint down the dark hallway to the safety of some other lit room. Like a hand reaching for them, dancing too long fingers up the spine, threatening to reach for the throat. A sensation that could only be chased away once you stepped past the threshold line of light created by a fluorescent bulb. He wasted no time in checking to see if that was true and instead darted forward without a second thought.

Without a gun, without a cloak or disguise, Alex had one thing to help get his ass back to safety: strategy. He wasn't sure what lengths the Sniper would go to to retrieve his weapon as he understood most of them were incredibly protective about them. And a simple respawn wouldn't cut it for the poor Sniper either as it only worked with the _person_ and not _personal effects_. You had to die with your weapons on you for it to carry over so he'd still be useless. Unless he suddenly wanted to become a frontlines Sniper and go at people with his kukri, instead of being a mile away, but that was his choice to make.

The Spy was hauling it directly towards the large central building that contained the sawmill the area was so "creatively" named after. The sounds of yelling, gunfire, and general bullshit grew louder the closer he got. More pressingly, between Alex and the staircase he wanted to go up to get into the building was a BLU Heavy. Perfect! The Heavy was at the base of the stairs, gatling gun raised and firing after the disappearing form of what looked like the massive RED Pyro into the doorway above. Alexs' lungs were burning with the run and he knew the adrenaline would give out soon, but he was almost in the home stretch.

Alex used his momentum and the Heavy's height to his advantage. Just as the man was revving his gun down to get ready to charge after he'd feel a hand on his shoulder that pulled him back slightly. A foot in his lower back and then the whole weight of one twiggy Frenchman _vaulting_ himself upwards, using him as a human ladder to get up. Adding insult to injury the last foot stepped off the man's face, effectively cracking his nose in a bloody spray, but it worked to get Alex up higher, quicker and his long legs were already taking the steps two at a time. A rage filled yell from below was shortly followed by the rapid splintering of wood after him before he ducked into the doorway.

The battle raged full force on the ground floor. Flashes of gunshots, small explosions and fire... All things Alex, frankly, didn't have time for. Without waiting to see if the BLUs would be following him up he took his second leap of faith for the day by charging through one of the two small windows on the landing. Why? While on the other side it was a straight plummet to the floor there was also a large log set on rails hanging from two sturdy steel chain-and-hooks. He sent a spray of glass tinkling to the floor below and landed with only a bit of a slip. The momentum and force sent the log moving, swaying back and forth above the mayhem and bloodied rotating saws, but he was getting closer to the other staircase without being bothered. He stayed crouched low for balance, gripping the wood as the wheels above clicked and rolled on the tracks. No one really seemed to notice as anyone down below was already dealing with their own issues of not dying.

It was that god damn Pyro though. They noticed and Alex felt fire flare up near his general vicinity. He hissed, peeking over his moving hiding spot, eyes narrowing at the sight. Of course. But it didn't matter as there was a loud thud when the log came to a halt. Alex gave it one more sway back and forth, and leapt from his spot through another window, rolling when he landed. NAILED IT. It was a hop, skip and a jump out the doorway and then home free to RED base from there!

It was an image that would likely stay with Charles for a long time. Few things on this earth could be so utterly and uniquely infuriating as the sight of the RED Spy not only getting away with his rifle -- _his rifle!_ \-- but getting away with _showboating_. It was an almost freeze-frame moment as Charles took in that shit-eating grin, the insolent little salute, the night-and-day difference between the wretch who’d been at his mercy not that long ago, to how _wretched_ it made him feel to see the Frenchman so in his element now. The worst part of it all? Anyone might be watching this little scene play out. The mere idea was humiliating.

Usually it was insult added to injury. In this case, injury interrupted insult. 

Forget the freeze-frame moment. The reality check came in blinding fast, _deafening_ even, Charles’ head snapping back as he half-staggered, half-fell. One hand was thrown out to catch himself, the other reflexively reached for the burning pain that seemed to overwhelm the whole side of his face as his mouth gaped in a silent scream. Hell, even if Charles _had_ screamed, he might not have heard it over the high-pitched whine that screeched in his ear. What was left of it. His fingers had come away covered in blood, bits of flesh. Cartilage. 

The funny thing about the fight or flight reflex -- it didn’t entirely clear the mind for cold, rational action so much as utterly kill any single thought that might distract for even a moment from the animal impulse of SURVIVE. In moments like this where it utterly took over, yes, Charles might have looked outwardly calm and confident as he gathered himself, mouth snapping shut, gore wiped off with the front of his shirt. He was anything _but_, tearing away from the chase with single-minded clarity he would not even remember. Adrenaline, baby, it works.

Except when it doesn’t. All Charles knew was that he needed cover, to get away from the overhead terror that had rattled his skull so thoroughly it had made a fleeing mouse out of him, but there were enemies all around. Even in the heady fog of adrenaline he gave the main building a wide berth, because that was just a _den_ of animals tearing each other apart. What he hadn’t anticipated the ambush predator, lying in wait for the prey to come stumbling upon them.

So it didn’t matter how wildly the Sniper zig-zagged to avoid bullets if he zig-zagged straight into the mouth of a Pyro’s flamethrower. 

Adrenaline could numb only so much. The agony of being burnt alive, well, that had a way of bringing a man back down the earth. Deep down. Hell, folks, Charles was in hell, howling in pain and terror utterly unrestrained before finally, mercifully, Respawn took him.

\--

The Medic’s gaze snapped over to the hunched, gasping form that had abruptly appeared in the otherwise perfectly peaceful, perfectly sterile room. 

“Ah, the Sniper! I was told I should be expecting you.” 

The insult of that did not register to Charles as he fought to find his bearings, swallowing deep and desperate pulls of oxygen again, sweet oxygen, no longer eaten away by the hunger of the Pyro’s flames as it had engulfed him -- it was an understatement but it _burned_, it had burned so _terribly_ and now it was replaced by an emptiness so bone-achingly cold he was wracked with a convulsion of full-body shudders as he held himself, gasps quieting down to rasping wheezes.

“Ooh, there there, you’ll be fine,” the professional Dr. Laibach, knowing full well this was the Sniper’s first go-round, tried to encourage with misplaced tenderness. Sure enough, hyperventilating aside, the rangy Australian looked to be all in one piece. And Charles _had_ to be fine if he still had the presence of mind to shove the doctor away. Right then. No hug. The Medic just watched as his teammate brought a shaky hand up to his own ear, gingerly tracing the helix of it. Huh. 

But with each passing moment, Charles’ breathing slowed to something steadier, until it was no longer audible. The shuddering gradually stopped, melding back to the eerie stillness that made Snipers, well, Snipers probably. A few more moments passed, for good measure, until Dr. Laibach started to feel awkward watching this man seemingly staring off into space and he prodded lightly, “So, you _are_ fine then?”

Charles was not fine. 

“He has my gun.” 

Admitting that aloud, he felt a fresh stab of fury that made his face contort into a snarl of anger. But, remembering himself and the Medic watching, his face fell back into a blank mask. No, none of that. _That_ was what had gotten him into the mess in the first place. He felt his ear again, whole but so tender the breeze itself could make it burn, and that’s when Charles realized somewhere out there he’d lost his hat, too.

“Oh, _god_,” the Medic groaned as he watched the Sniper burst out with a scream of unknowable rage.

\--

Yes, Charles had stormed out of the respawn room with murder on his mind. But as he stalked through the halls of BLU base, that renewed sense of vengeance began to ebb away. In its place flowed in despair. Rare was it that the seasoned, rugged bushman would allow himself to indulge in self-pity, but there it was now, welcomed in like an old friend. 

He couldn’t possibly expect to survive out there, a Sniper without his rifle. Sure, he’d headed to resupply to fetch his standard-issue SMG, but there was a reason he’d neglected to tote it along in the first place: Charles was garbage with it. The scattershot speed of it, how it jumped in his hands, it was an embarrassing display he intended to leave only to last resorts. But then, this certainly counted, didn’t it?

As he passed the stairs leading to what he once thought was the perfect hunting blind, Charles could not help but acknowledge the temptation to return, hiding away in the dark like an animal curled up ready to die. But that’s exactly what the Spy had wanted to do, an eternity ago -- and Charles was not going to be like that Spy.

That Spy, who’d only wanted to survive until ceasefire and, come to think of it, hadn’t he mentioned _seeing_ Charles at ceasefire…?

It was enough to stop him in his tracks. As long as the Sniper was allowing himself to feel things he did not normally tolerate, it was dread now that was settling, cold and heavy, in his gut. 

It was all in the name: ceasefire. Neutral territory. Equal terms. Technically safe, so why did the thought of running into the Spy the one time they _couldn’t_ tear each other apart make him feel so nakedly apprehensive? 

Because that would mean having given into what the Spy wanted. As if the RED hadn’t done enough to make Charles feel powerless, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time but not an entirely _unfamiliar_ existence, no, it had been the unbearable constant for far too long so it was _for precisely that reason_ that he had to kill the Spy for making him go through it again --

The hallway exploded with an echoing burst of gunfire and it was only when Charles jumped, yelping, did it stop. Then he realized he’d thoughtlessly squeezed the trigger of the sweat-slicked submachine gun in his hands. 

_Fucking idiot._

Growling curses at himself under his breath, the Sniper continued his march towards the battlefield like a dead man walking. No further incidents. But just like before, when there had still been a glimmer of hope that he might be able to retrieve his rifle from the mud, Charles hesitated at the doorway of the base. This time, there was no tantalizing rifle lying discarded. Certainly no hope anymore. 

Still plenty of mud, though.

One hop, one skip, and one jump through muddy puddles and soon enough Alex found himself within the safety of RED walls once more. Well, as safe as one could be - there was always a chance a wayward BLU could find their way around and cause some mild havoc but it was unlikely. Unless you were super stupid, and unlucky, and ended up like Alex had earlier that day. The stinging reminder on his throat made itself known but he only rubbed at it lightly through the neck of his mask.

A grand total of two people were the only ones that saw Alex passing through the halls with a muddy, certainly-not-his rifle slung over one shoulder. The first was, unfortunately, the newest Soldier that had arrived on base just a few weeks prior. He was still on the outs with the whole team, really had his teeth sunk into the "I'm a paranoid, aggressive shit" fruit and wasn't very privy to the nonsense one of the two RED Spies were prone to. This ended up leading him to absolutely drill Alex with his shotgun pointed at the Frenchman's chest, yelling until he was a different shade of red in the face. Convinced that Alex was somehow a BLU spy trying to sneak into their base to kill them all at ceasefire, despite Alexs' best efforts to tell him he still wouldn't need a _Sniper's rifle_ to do that. In fact, trying to murder everyone in the dead of night with a loud ass single shot weapon was probably the worst idea and not very Spy like in the slightest.

Alex legitimately thought this man was about to go off the deep end on him though. By now he could feel the cold bite of the business end of the shotgun being pressed up into his chin, causing his head to tip back at an uncomfortable angle as he pressed more into the wall, as if willing himself to become one with it. Oh he was going to be pissed if this man killed him just to take his prize away. He had gotten this about as fair and square as stealing was fair!

But then his sweet fiery angel arrived! Fresh out of respawn, rubbing his assumed to be sore chest from whatever wound he had been suffering, the hulking Pyro took pause at the scene he came up to. Despite the filtration mask the slight tilt of his head spoke the level of confusion that was clearly written on his face. Alex did a double take at the Pyro before a nervous chuckle chittered out of him and the man came stomping over.

See, most Pyros were not as physically intimidating as the utter pain and destruction their weapons could bring were. Most were short, slumped shoulders, arguably small pinheads - almost like the kind of nerd one could shove into a locker and keep there. This Pyro, on the other hand, was the bully that did the nerd shoving and he used that to his advantage. Squared up in the chest and shoulders with a height that caused him to loom over most, and with a couple of interesting modifications set upon him by their Engineer the deep, angry growl in the back of his throat resonated out of that mask.  
The award to scariest Pyro ever goes to Match, every year, hands down.  
The Soldier hadn't even begun to stammer out his reasons before the Pyro activated the flamethrowers secondary use. The blast of hot air just bordered on uncomfortable and sent the man's hat jerking towards the ground pitifully. "Pyro! He's a Spy! I'm just trying to keep the base safe!"  
"Of course I'm a Spy!" Alex shot back with a hint of exasperated annoyance. However, Match was having none of it. A thumb hooked beneath the lip of his own mask and with some difficulty he managed to get it up enough to expose part of the mangled bit of his face.  
"Get out before I spy check you. Slowly and painfully." the snarl was enough to shut both Alex and the Soldier up. The shotgun toting lunatic was quick to scamper back, even more when he saw Match reaching for the pull trigger of his weapon again. The hat was picked up in a flash and very quickly, they were alone.

"Ooo. Someone is in a bad mood today." Alex commented softly, looking up at his friend. Match huffed a sigh and shook his head.  
"Not a bad mood. Just can't stand stupid." then a pause, "What're ya doin' with that?" he used the mouth of the flamethrower to motion towards the rifle, something of a smirk coming to his face. "Did ya make a new friend Spooks?"  
"Maybe, Firebug." came the purred response as he started to move past the Pyro, patting his arm, "Thanks for the assist. Be careful out there, and save me some dinner tonight, _s'il vous plaît_?"  
"Yep. Have fun with yer game." and the mask was yanked back down, the man slinking out once more.

Alex was quick to get to his destination, slipping into a narrow hallway that most folks overlooked unless they were actively seeking it. It was up a few flights of stairs and past more useless doors until he got to the one he wanted. Beyond the door, he heard a loud crack of a rifle and he waited until silence settled again before knocking.

Knock-knock. A pause. _Tap-tap-tap_.

Another stretch of silence made him wonder if something had happened, until the weight of the rifle reminded him that was almost impossible unless there was another Sniper he wasn't aware of. But that was all cleared from his mind when he heard the rattle of the door brace and it finally cracked open enough so he could wiggle his twiggy ass in. Remmy shoved the door brace back into its original spot and stared down at her companion with a finely raised brow. "All that trouble for a dirty rifle." she scoffed, the British accent much more pronounced in real life. Alex laughed as he peeled his mask off to shove it into his pocket, parting ways with her as she wandered back to the window and plopped down on her folding chair.

The room was significantly different than any other, set up less like a hunting blind or storage room and more like a very shitty studio apartment. There was a cot shoved off into one corner, a chest at the foot of it... There was a desk with a dismantled rifle beneath it and nearby a crate was acting as a smaller table currently hosting an oil burner with a slowly steaming tea kettle on it and two cups next to that. Granted the other half of the room was more or less a wall of RED crates full of various what-have-you the room did it's job well enough.

"Well you see, I needed to make a choice on the fly and this was the best I 'ad." Alex walked over to the desk to look over the tools, picking out several items and a large towel from a drawer as Remmy started to stare down her scope again, "Where is Crumpet?" he asked as he gathered up everything he wanted, walking over to a nice bare spot to the left of the window, sliding down the wall to sit.  
"Mmm. Somewhere outside probably. I am sure she is fine, she doesn't leave RED base." came the steady, unphased response from the much older woman, "So, what was he like? I wasn't aware BLU had a Sniper..."  
"Ahh," Alex hummed as he slowly started to disassemble the rifle, laying it out piece by piece. He had a lot of cleaning to do, "Tall, dark, 'andsome - from what I could see. Looks like 'e is a more traditional Sniper, as far as stereotypes go. Nice voice, sounds disused. I do not think 'e will be a problem in the long run." a grin curled across his lips as he removed his gloves and jacket to begin rolling up his sleeves, "I 'ope 'e stays long enough to play more."  
Remmy glanced down at Alex at that comment, rolling her eyes as her foot shifted to nudge him in the knee. "You are the most reckless Spy I know." then a snort as she spied something down her scope, "And I think your new friend is looking for you."  
"Good. Let's see if 'e is as good a 'unter as I 'ope."

It’s been said that burning ears are a sign that someone is talking about you. That didn’t exactly occur to Charles in the moment -- his formerly blown-off ear’s tingling only served as a reminder of what he was up against. No doubt the RED Sniper was still watching from on high, something to consider as he tried to decide on his next move. He hadn’t seen for himself where the Spy had gone off to, but he had a pretty good hunch it was back to his base. The coward.

But even _if_ Charles made it across the battlefield without attracting any attention from other REDs, where would he even begin with the base? He’d just as soon run into that skunk-headed Spy as he would any other, better-equipped RED just aching to kill an easy mark like him. It all felt so suicidal. This was the furthest thing from being a _Sniper’s_ job. Really more like… a Spy’s.

Lip curling in disgust, Charles dashed out from the building, taking a route decidedly different from his first disastrous outing. As tempting as it was to see if he might find his hat still there where he’d gotten shot, the more important thing was avoiding the enemy Sniper. And mud puddles. But mostly the Sniper, so he weaved (and sometimes slid) on long strides that weren’t quite Scout-fast, no, but carried him quickly past the center building unmistakably housing the infamous saw blades he wanted _nothing_ to do with. 

The timber shed proved to be far less packed -- with people, that is; stacks of logs crowded the building but Charles appreciated the opportunity to catch his breath among them as he slowed his pace to a cautious slink. The scent of damp sawdust wasn’t unpleasant, actually, but he wasn’t here to admire the carefully-constructed front.

Leaving the strangely-cozy shed, Charles was momentarily taken by the majestic sight of the waterfall before him. He’d heard it first, the steady roar of it almost, _almost_ drowning out the din of the chaotic battle raging in the mill, but now that he was up close… Just peeking through his scope could not have done it justice. His eyes followed its path down, where it fed into a log-filled pond -- and Charles’ gaze instantly snapped to the where red, RED-red, had almost blended into the brown of the cave’s mouth. Standing there watching him was _That Spy_, holding not his rifle, but his _hat._

Either way, it was enough to have the switch flip and the trigger pull, so to speak: Breaking into a charge with his SMG blazing, Charles was pleased to see the thief, with a _deliciously_ startled yelp, immediately turn tail and run back into the cave. He could only hope the cave led to a dead end. This would be easy, finally, he would have the satisfaction of cornering the Spy and killing him again and -- and he was pretty sure he heard his name being screamed over the hail of gunfire.

“Charles, you idiot! _Cease!_ It’s Polo!”

Now fully engulfed in the earthy embrace of the cave, with its leaking roof and dim lamps, he stopped his shooting but certainly didn’t stop moving, swiveling this way and that because although he _heard_ the Spy, he sure didn’t _see_ him.

“Come out, then,” the very-on-edge Sniper growled. It would be a dirty disappointment if this _was_ his own teammate, but it could just as easily be the RED, right? Doing some horrible little fake-out. He didn’t lower his weapon when a BLU Spy appeared, seemingly from thin air, near a bend in the cave. Wearing Charles’ hat on top of his own stupid beret.

“Don’t you dare shoot,” Maybe-Polo hissed, hands up, as Charles slowly approached. 

“Prove you’re Polo.” 

Torn between irritation and amusement, the BLU Spy pointed out, “I know your name, Charles. Who on RED would know that?” With a tilt of his head, a sly little smile crept across his face. “Unless… Did I interrupt a _rendez-vous_?” Down to the completely unnecessary emphasis on the French pronunciation of an otherwise perfectly serviceable loanword. Okay, this was Polo. 

Charles snatched the hat off his teammate’s head and placed it back where it belonged, covering his dark curls and already feeling halfway to complete again. He would not deign to respond to that insulting insinuation, looking around at the cave again. In another context, this really would have been a lovely place.

“_Franchement_? No ‘thank you’ for picking up your hat?” Polo piped up, re-adjusting his tie. “I have to wonder why it was where it was. And why you are here now.”

Charles did not at all want to get into it with Polo. This guy, this _bloke_, he could talk almost as much as that Buenaventura kid but Charles got the sense it was because he liked to hear himself speak. And that wasn’t getting into the whole accent business -- it was light and lilting, not _unpleasant_ or anything, but it hadn’t escaped his notice how Polo seemed to play it up when around others, really pepper that French in. French that sounded different from that other Spy, the RED he was after now, come to think of it. But why did he notice something like that…?

Polo resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably at the awkward silence that stretched between them. Good god, if there was one thing everyone on the team had quickly picked up on their new Sniper, it was how the man had a tendency to _stare_. Took ages to respond, sometimes, but the unabashed staring, even when he wasn’t being spoken to, was what stuck. And that was coming from a chronically eavesdropping Spy.

“...Where is your gun? The big one,” Polo suddenly realized, and that seemed to pull Charles out of his thoughts. 

“I need t’get to RED base,” answer enough, and he moved to start heading back out of the cave until Polo stopped him.

“_Non_, other way. This cave leads out to their yard.” 

So Charles complied, turning back around and following the bend of the cave. He was dismayed to find Polo following him.

“You’re not comin’,” he snapped, eyeing the hanger-on from the corner of his eye.  
“Charlie, I am a Spy,” and he ignored the low _don’t call me that_ \-- “Who better to get you into the enemy base than a Spy?”

Polo had a point and that annoyed Charles deeply. More than that, it made him instantly suspicious, _nervous_ even though he wouldn’t admit it, that the Spy was offering his help. Another silence descended on them as Charles’ thoughts battled between accepting, or driving him away. Polo’s thoughts turned to how strong that reaction had been when he’d been disguised as the RED Spy. Interesting.

Now out under the grey, dreary skies again, the two moved for their nearest cover -- another rickety wooden building, as this place was covered in, but Polo was right. They were closer to RED’s base now, looming across the yard. Holy shit this was happening. 

“Do you have your communicator?” Polo tapped his own ear for emphasis.  
“...No,” Charles rubbed his own ear, too keyed up to feel shame.  
“Did you lose _that_ too? Nevermind. _En tout cas_—keep going, I will be ahead of you. If I see any danger ahead, you will know.” 

Another little smirk played at his lips as he brandished his revolver. Polo liked to think he sounded very cool and very competent, looking over his little black spectacles to share a determined look with Charles -- whose big mirror shades disguised his gaze, if he was even looking at Polo at all. Right. He looked good in the reflection, at least.

“_Enwèye!_” were the BLU Spy’s parting words as he cloaked and, ostensibly, headed across the yard. Charles very strongly considered changing his approach and ditching Polo, this odd turn of events only adding to his tension more than anything, but hell. Perhaps it really would take a Spy to help him take down another Spy.

...That was, of course, assuming the skunk was even in his den. If only it really had been him in the cave. _If only, if only, if only,_ Charles chided himself internally, setting off across the yard too.  
While Charles was having something close to a midlife crisis on the battlefield, between having no gun, retrieving his hat, and being conned into working with a teammate, things were far more tame in the RED base. Pleasant even, with chatter and tea that had two and a half cubes of sugar. No more, no less.

"So," Remmy started as her head lifted from staring down the scope long enough for a lazy shoulder roll and a sip of said Earl Gray, "At the risk of sounding very stupid, why are you cleaning the rifle?"  
Alex merely smiled around the rim of his gently chipped tea cup, setting it down to the side. "Ah, _tu n'es pas stupide_." he assured her with a dismissive wave of his hand, picking up a clean cloth to start wiping down drying mud off the barrel, "But I believe you can tell a lot by a man on 'ow 'e takes care of 'is gun."

Remmy just stared at him, squinting incredulously at the Spy. Her extended silence prompted him to look up, head bobbing back just slightly when he noticed he was being stared at like he was growing horns. "What?"  
"I was just trying to figure out if that was an innuendo." Alex blinked once, twice, before his nose curled up a touch with the laugh he barked out.  
"_Non_! I just met 'im! Give me more credit than that, _mon amie_." that didn't stop him from waggling his brows at her, "I'm not that easy."  
"Easy to beat in strip poker."  
"You cheat."

Seconds ticked to minutes, Alex whittling away at this mess he had created slowly but surely. Clean pieces of rifle were set to one side near the bottle of gun oil he would owe to Remmy later. The Frenchman took to humming softly and Remington kept watch from the safety of her perch, silent as always. Was it a Sniper thing, Alex wondered. Perhaps, but he supposed he was awfully silent when he needed to be which wasn't as often as anyone would assume. RED team had long since learned they had probably one of the most unconventional Spies to ever be allowed on the field. It wasn't always a bad thing and more often than not, Alex used his weird ways to help his companions and annoy the BLUs. That was it, really. He was a professional griefer and Charles would be feeling that the hardest in his long, gun-less moments. Poor thing.

Remmy had long since killed the laser sight for her gun as she scanned the area. There wouldn't be a little red dot to alert the wayward BLU Sniper that he had been spotted. A deep sigh left the Brit as she looked down at Alex with a motherly disapproval he had grown to understand.  
"Company?" Alex took a shot, no pun intended, in the dark and was met with a short nod. "I'll get another tea cup ready." he said as he pushed himself up, brushing off the dust from his ass.

"I think we should do Fake Out." Remmy declared. Alex paused mid stride for half a second but nodded his agreement even as he came to the small cupboard that housed the cups, taking one out and setting it next to the refilled tea kettle. Remmy was also getting up to move to the door and double check the locks as Alex made his way to the cot. A quick crouch and from beneath he pulled out a distinctly violin shaped case, setting it on the uncomfortable bed and popping it open. Inside was indeed a violin of a deep, shiny redwood in near pristine condition with hardly a scuff mark on it. Elegant silver tuning pegs at the top of a sleek black fingerboard and a chinrest that had the thinnest but softest velvet surface to it - it was a stunning instrument for sure.

But that's not what Alex wanted.

Instead he lifted it out of the case, along with the bow, and hooked his finger in a small string loop on the baseboard to lift it up to get to the compartment beneath. Inside were only two things: a garrote wire and an old, standard issue Dead Ringer. The board was replaced, as was the gorgeous instrument, and the case was closed. Remmy had unlocked the door but kept it closed for now, leaning against it as she watched Alex stride back to the middle of the room. He was pulling his mask back on, wire in one hand and watch in the other. The silence of the room had turned from comfortable to tense as the Sniper and Spy just watched each other, both of them listening to the chaos of the raging war outside and _past_ it for much quieter, harder to hear sounds inside. Like the tap-tap-tap of unfamiliar footsteps that didn't know to avoid the third step from the top because it was awfully creaky.

That was the sign. Remmy moved first, moving as silently as she could to the stacked crates to the side. Alex pressed the button on the hummingbird engraved pocket watch, counted to 3, and had to catch himself. His dead self. A dead doppelganger that looked just like him. Just like with how their bodies, blood and bits disappeared after death, only to suddenly reappear elsewhere whole again, there were a few items provided by the Industries that had unique uses. In a blink the body was there slumped against him and he was leading it to lay on the floor - no one but other Spies would ever understand how jarring this was. It was almost unreal, until you remembered it was very real. He was handling a him shaped meat suit full of blood and guts that weren't his, meant to confuse his enemies to allow him time to escape or to turn the tide to his favor. However his overall cloaking device didn't register the Ringer so he couldn't phase out of sight, but it wouldn't matter.

As soon as Alex was out of the way Remmy steadied her gun on the not-Alex corpse and fired. Just once. Alex, halfway up the boxes himself, paused to let out the most from his gut pained cry he could before falling silent as they both climbed to the top. The benefit of the boxes was not only the cover they could provide but also access to the rafters above, both Sniper and Spy moving across swiftly nearest the door so they weren't seen so quickly. The bullet from the rifle sure made a mess and a giant hole in the chest of the counterfeit corpse, but it was setting a strange scene. Now they waited.

Alex almost missed the slight nudge of the handle with how loudly he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. They both watched in silence from above as the door eased open and in wandered a BLU Spy... Followed by the BLU Sniper. Now, both resident REDs were mad for their own reasons. Remmy was mad because this fellow Sniper had the NERVE to bring a _Spy_ into her _hideaway_. Bring a Heavy, bring a Soldier, hell bring a Pyro but _never_ a Spy. Alex was mad simply because it was the BLU Spy in the room. Near his friend. Neither were immediately aware of them and that was fine but it didn't change the fact there was an enemy Spy near his companion.

Remmy dropped first.

Despite being shorter she was more sturdy and had the element of surprise on Charles. She would use all her weight to take him down, aiming to grapple him in such a way she could get him on his back. One hand grabbing the front of his clothes, the other holding a wildly dangerous, serrated blade to his neck and pressing just enough to bead up tiny bubbles of blood. She had one boot firmly pinning one of his hands down via his wrist and her other leg was not so gently digging it's knee into his kidney. She leaned close to him, teeth bared in her low snarl, "You move an inch and I'm gonna chop your balls off and let you bleed a slow death, you damn wanker."

Woah boy. 

Hopefully that whole tussle was enough to make the other Spy blissfully unaware of his own imminent danger as Alex dropped down soon after. Assuming the man was about to shoot Remmy (as her back was to him) or try to stab her Alexs' first order of business was getting the weapon out of his hand. When he dropped he aimed a kick at the side of the man's head to knock him off balance and go for the weapon, intent on ripping it out of his hand to YEET it to the other side of the room. There was a pattern with this boy.

After that it was a dance around the other Spy, kicking him in the back of the knee to take him down to slip that wire tight around his neck and _pull_ it taut. Tighter than that. Tight enough to make the BLU bleed through his mask. Now, maybe he would take an elbow to the junk. Maybe a knife to the leg. Maybe this Spy was as wiggly as he was and would get away! So if he couldn't choke him out this way he would scramble to get his hands on the other man's jawline and with a _hard_ jerk there would be a near deafening snap. Oof.

_If only, if only, right Charles?_

Imagine Charles’ surprise upon seeing the object of his obsession already dead. Granted, finding him in the first place would’ve felt like a miracle for how blind this expedition behind enemy lines was, not that Polo needed to know that -- but to find him _dead_? 

Somehow, staring down at the corpse that confirmed the cry they’d both heard was, in fact, the RED thief (and what a strange thing to already recognize), Charles could not quite muster up any feeling of triumph. Not the way his Spy teammate did, “I wish I had my camera!”, slapping his knee with a peal of laughter. Well, they could both dwell on their respective disappointments later. What mattered now was finding the goddamn stolen rifle and getting the hell out of here; he was already treading lightly around the corpse Polo was coming to wonder aloud about.

Imagine Charles’ even deeper shock upon being dropped in on, and subsequently _dropped_, bowled over roughly enough to knock the wind out of him and you know? That blade pressed to his throat did not help how breathless he felt, eyes wide and darting behind glasses knocked askew as he tried to take in the scene and their chances of survival. Not great, considering the boot crushing his wrist, pinning the hand scrabbling to touch the SMG he’d dropped in the scuffle. 

The face of the other Sniper loomed before him and told him what he’d already suspected -- his pinned hand fell still, the one still free remaining pressed flat against the floorboards. He could have gone for his kukri, _he really wanted to go for his kukri_, but even Charles could see when he was overpowered. He could also see, wrenching his gaze away to avoid eye contact with the enemy Sniper, that his teammate Polo was having his own surprise adversary to contend with. It almost took Charles’ breath away all over again to realize it was the skunk-headed RED, not a newly-risen corpse but the man looking utterly… _immaculate_.

Lord knows Polo tried. He’d also yelped, startled as he was by the Sniper out of nowhere, but unlike his usual tactic when it came to close-quarters, the BLU Spy did _not_ instinctively cloak himself and try to book it. He’d actually held his ground, whipping up his revolver and trying to line the shot -- before a crack against his head sent him tottering sideways, the shot booming loudly but going harmlessly wide before the gun, too, flew across the room as it was torn from his hand.

Polo had no chance to recover, a wire around his neck in an instant. And like an animal caught in a snare, he became a creature of pure panic. Not just for his own life, but that his teammate was undoubtedly seeing all of this: the stupid way he gasped uselessly for breath, wrenching his bodly wildly against the stranglehold. They’d gotten _so close_. He could’ve won Charles over, could’ve saved his life, even if he’d just gotten that shot off, but Polo couldn’t even save his own life. Sure, he’d gotten one last dig in, literally, a desperate stab of his switchblade into the other Spy’s leg, but what did that get him? 

A sickening crunch, and Polo was gone. Charles watched his teammate’s body go instantly limp. It was very strange, that it inspired an ache in his chest if only for a moment, but that hurt quickly fell to the wayside considering the pain of the knee digging into his kidney _jesus christ woman._

Turning his attention back to his own current predicament, the words having registered now that his mind was clear with the realization he was well and truly fucked, Charles bared his teeth back at at the RED Sniper. His face was burning, heart pounding. “_Fuck_ yourself you bloody _pommy_.” And with that, Charles spat in her face, defiance a good cover for despair.  
_Oh no, Charles._

Alex dropped the body wordlessly, only hissing through his teeth from the sharp pain burning up his left leg. Wonderful. Digging the blade out did wonders to help with that but now he was just bleeding all over Remmy's hunt. With a mildly annoyed sigh through his nostrils the Spy looked up in _just_ enough time to see the BLU make a hell of a mistake. Grey eyes went wide for a moment and he visibly flinched when Remmy lifted him up by that grip she had on the front of his shirt, only a few inches, and _SLAM_ him back into the floorboards. Alex watched as the other man's head just bounced like a ragdoll off the floor and he had sympathy pains in his teeth for how that must have rattled.

"Don't you _dare_ start that shit with me." Remmy warned him, not in an explosive yell but in a low, steady growl, "You have the _audacity_ to bring a Spy in _my_ blind? My _house_? You pathetic fucking twat." she seethed. Alex was silently limping around the room as Remmy started to tear Charles a new asshole. If for a hot second Alex caught the BLU's gaze he'd only be met with a look that basically said, 'Don't look at me, you're the one that pissed her off'. He had been yelled at enough already and he was not about to invite that negativity into his life right now. To the door he went to close it slowly, drawing the heavy lock-and-brace across it to keep it secure before he'd dare to approach the pair.

"You listen here you damn tosser, you're in my house, you play by my rules. If it weren't for him I'd gut you right here, but Spooks says no. You're _lucky_." Alex crouched down low enough to slip two fingers around the muzzle of the SMG and drag it away slowly. He stood and leaned to try and see if he'd be able to get the kukri as well but the angle was bad. Unfortunately it meant they'd have to trust him. Alex wandered away again, this time towards Remmy's discarded rifle. The SMG was hidden, for now, and he returned with the rifle in tow, standing by idly, "If I see you so much as _think_ about drawing that stick you call a blade, I will _personally_ make sure that your time here is an unbearable hell. Every. Single. Day. You will wish you were dead, I promise. Now you're gonna sit down, shut up, and have a cup of tea like a civil person." it was probably that last bit that was going to throw the BLU for a loop.

After another couple of seconds of staring him down Remmy removed herself from pinning him. She grabbed up her rifle and stomped over to her seat, past where the bodies had been because they were long gone, and sat heavily. Visibly fuming and growling softly to herself about "greenhorns breaking codes", among other less polite things. That left Alex lingering near Charles, but hopefully he had learned from last time the Spy was _wiggly_ and good at getting away and maybe he learned this time that he was, in fact, a very capable killer when needed.

"Don't mind 'er," he said after a measured beat, trying to determine how poorly this was about to go, "She 'as just... been 'ere a long time." he eased his mask off again, stuffing it into a pants pocket before taking a DEEP BREATH and offering a hand to help Charles up off the floor, "Look - you made it all the way 'ere for your weapon. I will return it, I promise. But for now _please_ just... listen, _oui_?" he tried a small grin, "I will not 'urt you, I already told you that. But I will safely bet my next paycheck if you try anything, she won't shoot to kill and will let you bleed a slow, painful death. So... Do you want sugar in your tea or not?"

Even on Charles’ good days, having so many words thrown at him in one continuous go would be overwhelming. Now imagine his plight on this, one of his worst days -- even before his brain was rattled around by a floorboard slam that had him screwing his eyes shut and looking for all the world like he was trying to will himself into nonexistence. The distinct venom in the enemy Sniper’s voice as she prattled on made his blood run cold. 

He wanted to kill her to make it stop but he could hardly be present enough to make a move for his, as she called it, _stick_. He was simultaneously biting back retorts that would only come out as shrill, maddened invectives, tamping down the urge to simply go ballistic and do as much damage as he possibly could before he was cut down, and fighting against the creeping daze of dissociation. Charles was only vaguely aware of the RED Spy moving, working around them. In this moment, the RED Sniper had actually won the coveted title of who he hated most on this earth. 

And then his eyes snapped open as he tried to catch that -- had he heard that right? _Tea?_

Eyebrows drawing together in bewilderment, Charles did not immediately move when the RED finally left him, though he did let out a breath he did not realize he’d been holding. In fact his breathing was very shallow now, chest tight as he stared up at the ceiling and tried to pull himself together into something, yes, civil. And frankly he needed a moment to parse the words he’d heard past the tone. Tea was involved. _Why._

He did not have much of a chance to speculate on the cruel machinations of these two as the Spy stepped into frame. Far from the all-consuming rage the skunk-head had previously inspired, now Charles felt a stronger sense of dull hopelessness.

Having his progress acknowledged was almost nice, but not nice enough to soften him to the thief. He did not accept the proffered hand. Would have spat at that, too, except he’d decided to keep his defiance more lowkey. If they wanted his company, fine, it just wouldn’t be _pleasant_ company. Charles picked _himself_ back up, slowly and painfully but he was _up_ after a moment, to readjust his hat and straighten his glasses first. Then, he could consider the question posed to him. He was still hung up on certain things the other Sniper had said; namely, she’d told him to shut up and he wanted very much to do just that. It had cut deep. 

...But somehow he got the feeling that being _that_ level of petulant would incur consequences, so he refrained.

“Don’t want tea. Want my _gun_.” A pause, as realization came to Charles. “...Both. And Polo’s.” Shit. This situation had actually become so much more worse than where it had started. He couldn’t even disguise the way his shoulders slumped, tension tightening in his jaw. They were probably loving this, the sadistic fucks. Another wave of homicidal fury wracked him, but getting himself killed now would only set him back even further. He had been promised his gun back, carrot on stick dangled before him, if only he would behave and play along. 

So against all good sense and conventional wisdom and universal truths of the world, Charles would just have to trust the Spy was being honest. Gaze firmly planted on the other man’s feet, he corrected himself: “...No sugar, then.”

Honestly, Alex was not surprised the man hadn't taken his hand after all and eventually it fell to shove into his pocket as he watched and waited. The Spy was tense, a bit of a twitch up his back at every movement, until the seconds ticked by and when the Sniper didn't launch at him he started to unwind some. So he _could_ be talked to. But something caught his attention first. Brows pinched up and he squinted at the Sniper, trying to process something he had said. "Polo." he repeated, once aloud and then again in his brain. Polo. _POLO._

"They are named Marco and Polo."

Oh he hated that. He didn't know if he hated it because somewhere in the world some parents had the brilliant idea to name their kids "Marco" and "Polo" or if he hated it because the brother Spies thought themselves clever enough to pull something like that off. But did they do it successfully was a better question. Alex hissed sharply and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, rambling off a string of French that even drew a snort out of the still very miffed Remmy sitting by the window. "No sugar." he muttered as he turned to meander his still wounded ass over to the tea kettle - making a single stop to grab Remmy's cup in passing. Both were filled, the packets added and hers was returned to her with the appropriate sugar cubes and spoon. Then to the Sniper, Alex stopped and stood in front of him while being very aware he was within arms reach again. "'ere." he held out the cup on it's mismatched saucer, taking in whatever he could of the BLU now that he wasn't actively attempting to murder him. Or chasing him. Or holding his head up to cut it off.

He noticed the ear first, rather that it was all back in one piece which led Alex to one of three assumptions. Dispenser, a Medic with a Medigun or the worst option, a respawn. Alex wasn't going to ask and instead stay blissfully unaware and assume a dispenser had patched him up. Speaking of dispensers...

Once the tea had been taken Alex started to make his way back over to the spot he had been before the new guest had arrived. There was a roughly dispenser shaped something beneath a dusty cloth nearby and, lo and behold, when the sheet was removed it was a dispenser! An old, not very well maintained one but it was there all the same. "Take a seat, Blu." Remmy mumbled over her cup as she sat staring outside. At least she seemed to be simmering down and wasn't on the verge of "I'm going to shoot his dick off and watch him slowly bleed" anymore. A silver lining.

The Spy lowered himself down to sit, reaching over to flick the dispenser on. It rattled and wheezed to life but soon enough the steady stream of red wisps were drifting to Alex, more specifically his damaged leg. "Your gun is currently in pieces," Alex explained as he picked his jacket up off his 'project', all of the pieces still laid out neatly and almost all of them clean, "I am making sure there is no mud inside places it shouldn't be. It also looks like the scope is a bit off kilter now, but I we 'ave a replacement - unless you do, of course. Either way you will likely be 'ere until ceasefire... You can get comfortable as you see fit." and then a pause as Alex looked up at the Sniper, "... I am Alex. You do not need to provide a name, nor do you need to talk."

Oh great. That was probably a no-no. Now the RED Spy knew Polo’s name, and Charles couldn’t help but bristle a bit at hearing him saying it. He hadn’t been thinking. _Idiot._ Hung up as he was on his own flub, he did not immediately get the strong reaction from the other man saying god only knows what in French. Spies were simply a breed he would never understand and didn’t exactly want to.

Charles stayed stock-still as the Spy moved on, only his head turning to follow him. It was now that he noticed the thief-turned-captor had been injured -- good on you, Polo. But not good enough. He could hear the snap of his teammate’s neck again and his face twitched. From how pathetic the RED had been in their first run-in, he almost could have forgotten that the man _had_ to be a killer, too, to be among them. So Charles was _also_ acutely aware when the Spy was within reach again. 

Unsurprisingly, he did not immediately take the tea, only eyeing it at first. Probably it was poisoned, because there had to be some sort of catch to all of this, and he resolved not to so much as sip it. But he did accept it, cautiously, making only the barest minimum contact with slender but steady hands. That it was not immediately thrown in his face counted towards the idea that this might not devolve into torture at the hands of the REDs, so there was that. 

Still, Charles wasn’t about to relax and get all chummy. Again, he stood watching the Spy. The unveiling of the dispenser did draw his interest, for a moment -- now _there_ was an idea for the ol’ hunting blind -- but the Sniper speaking up put him on edge again, a lip-curl of disgust his only response to the invitation to sit.

It was only at the mention of his gun that Charles finally came alive again, tensing sharply and stepping forward with a slosh of his tea and a low, dangerous _“What.”_ But then he saw for himself what the Spy meant and he didn’t quite relax, no, because now he felt strangely… not quite _violated_, but heat rose to his face. Maybe it was some sort of psychosexual pathology, as the good Dr. Laibach might call it, that Charles was so attached to his gun the thought of another man cleaning it so thoroughly felt uncomfortably _intimate_.

He crept closer, no longer aggressive, to look down at the Spy’s handiwork. The man knew what he was doing, that much was clear, even if Charles really _really_ felt weird about it. This was… considerate. Why was a RED, the enemy, being considerate? 

No, this was sabotage of some sort, surely. He’d find it, later. Provided his rifle really was returned to him. 

To further add to the mindfuck that was this entire situation, Charles now knew his enemy’s name. Alex. Given so casually that it couldn’t possibly be his real name, just like Polo probably wasn’t -- oh. _Marco Polo_, like the explorer. 

Charles blinked back at Alex, then quickly looked away, back at his disassembled rifle. Why would he say that, about not needing to talk? If they didn’t want a name, or to interrogate him, _what did they want_? He felt another flare of anger, a desire to lash out at this situation he understood less and less with each passing moment, but he was outnumbered. He was only too aware of the Sniper, even if most of his ire was now focused on the Spy.

Surprisingly, Charles _did_ want to speak, but all the frantic thoughts were running together like a crowd all trying to push through a single door so that nothing came out. The result made him look stunningly foolish -- stooped there, tea untouched, opening his mouth to argue, closing it, opening it again then... closed again, as he swallowed hard. 

_He did not want to be here until ceasefire. How could he possibly get comfortable among enemies._ The more he wanted to bark these things out, the more Charles felt that block forming, the tea cup clattering on its saucer as he grew so achingly tense again. They were doing this to him. He saw the game now -- not physical torture, but psychological. Mind games. He pushed out a hot, angry breath from his nostrils and clenched his eyes shut behind his aviators. 

Alright well good thing Alex didn't expect Charles to talk after all, since it didn't look like that would be happening easily.  
For those few moments of extended silence, Alex just watched the Sniper. He was a _Spy_, it was sort of his thing to watch people - just most of the time they weren't supposed to know he was there. Trained to gather information either from listening or, like he did now, reading other people. The tension in the shoulders, his jaw as it set, how the cup shook ever so slightly... Charles didn't have to say a word for Alex to begin painting a broader picture of the man. Snipers always tried to be the reserved type, he had noticed over the years, but what they often didn't know was that they spoke volumes in other ways. This one was no exception.

The smile that graced his lips was a warm one, devoid of malice, so Alex just shrugged his shoulders and started to work again. Fine tools were taken to the smaller bits of the gun, everything was inspected and cleaned before being left to the side to air dry. The silence that settled in the room for a time was comfortable for the two REDs - a routine for them, which begged the question how long they had been there. Remmy looked like the war veteran she was, so either Alex had a baby face or was genuinely as young as he looked. Still, Remmy didn't have to say a word when she put her hand down and Alex leaned over to reach into the slot of the dispenser to pull out another box of rounds to pass off. She kept to herself now as she loaded up the bullet into the chamber and set her gun where it belonged, staring down the barrel again. They must have really not been bothered by Charles being there, because they still moved like clockwork. A surprisingly well oiled machine of two.

But then Alex spoke, of course.

"You know," he said as he raised his own mug a bit, using it to motion to the one Charles held, "You _can_ drink it. Remmy would kill me if I disrespected Earl Grey by putting something in it." he took a sip, almost to make a point, but really wouldn't press further. He popped the chamber of the BLU's rifle and fished out the bullet, pocketing it for the moment before he peered inside. "You take very good care of your weapon, Blu. Though I cannot say I am surprised - Snipers tend to be more mindful of these things. 'owever with that said, I am almost ashamed I chucked it out a window." he leaned back against the wall as the dispenser finished up the job with his leg, leaving a minor scar and a hole in his pants but he wasn't bleeding anymore.

"Which was hilarious to see, by the way." Remmy piped up with a soft chuckle. Honestly, it had been, just to be watching her team mate staring someone down before he just _threw a gun out a fucking window_. Instead of, you know, using it for its intended purpose. She knew he was an excellent shot, especially at close range, so why that had been his choice of action was beyond her.

Alex rubbed the back of his neck, thumb lingering to brush over the fading line where Charles had delivered a fatal blow only a couple of hours prior. "_Oui_, well... I never said I was good at making choices under pressure." he shot back to Remington with a scrunch of his nose, then looked back at Charles, "I said I wasn't going to 'urt you, I intend to maintain that promise for the rest of the day, at least. My next best option was to make you less of a threat to my teammates." that was actually very smart. If he had shot Charles, he would have just respawned with his gun, free to go back to his blind and start the process again. Taking his most dangerous weapon away from him was the same as putting booties on a cat, to an extent. Still deadly in some situations but unless the obstacle was taken care of first, mostly harmless. And, even with Charles having charged head first into enemy territory to try and get it back, it was still taking up time in the day where he _wasn't_ being a Sniper in the way he was supposed to be. An entirely passive disarming, even if Alex had suffered for it.

"I 'ope perhaps that can answer some unasked questions. If not, well, I tried."

Being left alone was about the best thing that could be done for Charles in the moment, an unintentional courtesy on Alex’s part. With the two REDs settling into their routine (and how nice for them, to be so damn comfortable), he could retreat from the pressure of speaking aloud to sort through his own thoughts -- though, the throbbing headache radiating from the back of his skull did make that a bit difficult. There was no denying how heavy he felt with each passing moment, aches only settling deeper into his body the longer he stood there, so stock-still and rigid. Like a particularly ill-tempered lamp in the background of the Sniper’s hideout, really.

Charles opened his eyes when Alex spoke up again. It figured the quiet he required wouldn’t last long enough; it doubly-figured it’d be the Spy to break it. And while tea _did_ sound good right about now, if he were being honest with himself, still Charles did not move to drink. Hung up as he was over trying to understand this bizarre situation, listening to Alex was his focus now. Distantly, it felt nice having his obvious care for his weapon acknowledged, but that was a feeling quickly discarded in favor of irritation.

Irritation only intensified when the other Sniper -- the aforementioned Remmy, he assumed -- spoke up again. _Wouldn’t find it so hilarious if it were your gun, I bet._ The banter between them inspired a strange little twist in Charles’ gut, but it was another flicker of emotion to be snuffed out as Alex returned to addressing him directly. And that, well…

A quiet, deadpan “ah” was about all Charles could muster at the realization that he’d been _played like a damn fiddle._

All his overthinking about this being some sort of loyalty test to see if he could be tempted into fraternization with the enemy, or some sort of hostage situation with torture incoming, or anything _other_ than the apparent truth that this was just a roundabout way to disarm him and waste his time -- all dashed because here were the REDs simply resting on their laurels.

Alex could’ve gloated. After all, he’d succeeded masterfully, stringing the desperate BLU along and even cutting down a Scout and Spy, too, in the course of it. With the help of Remmy -- that was the legendary _teamwork_ Charles had heard so much about, he supposed. Yet the enemy Spy was so _infuriatingly_ restrained now that he’d gotten what he’d wanted, a far cry from the cocky son of a bitch who’d been playing keep-away out in the yard.

The urge to drop this stupid tea and go for his kukri, lashing out with the last vestige of control he might have however briefly before it was violently cut down, was a _powerful_ one. But while that was an intoxicating impulse, there was a far more familiar inclination plucking at him, promising to make this easier to bear _for the rest of the day_ as the Spy had said: a blanketing sense of detachment that dulled his feelings, thoughts, his sense of self. 

“Got it,” Charles answered hollowly after a lull. He realized he’d been staring right at Alex this entire time, and it took some effort to turn the other cheek, so to speak -- to turn his head as slowly as if he were moving underwater, impassively taking in the room while barely there at all. Just as stiffly, he lifted the tea cup from its saucer and sipped, polite as could be. The taste of it hardly registered. 

Another beat, and like an afterthought Charles added flatly, “Don’t call me Blu.”

Unlike the bothered BLUs, and perhaps other REDs Charles might meet, the people that were unsettled by his staring, Alex was not. In fact he just stared right back, unphased and unwavering with a content, lazy smile. If Alex was looking for something, or the lack of something, in a response from the Sniper, who knew. He didn't say anything and his face didn't give it away, only a breathy laugh left him at the afterthought comment. "Alright _Bob_." he replied smoothly with a shrug, reaching down to pick up a couple of dried pieces of sniper rifle, "But I do suggest you take a seat... Unless you want your knees to lock up."

Alex hadn't lied when he said this was going to take time. If it were a routine cleaning that would have been different, but he had chucked it into 4 inches of the stickiest, grossest mud puddle in the yard. Mud was very good at getting places it shouldn't be, just like a certain Spy. But at least for the duration he spent cleaning it the silence had come back to the room - for the most part. Alex hummed softly and once in awhile Remmy would grumble something about a wayward passing BLU or idiotic RED. Her shots were spread out enough to make it difficult for people to track her location and they were also largely body shots, warning shots, and only the occasional headshot when someone was getting too ballsy. That damn bouncy Scout was getting on her last nerve though.

There wasn't much time left in the day as it was, and it passed mostly undisturbed for the trio. Mostly. At some point there was a series of knocks on the door that even startled the two REDs with how lulled into their work they both had been. Knock-knock. ... Tap-tap-tap. _**THUD**_. Oh. Remmy and Alex exchanged glances before Alex looked at Charles, putting a finger to his lips in a silent gesture. Not like the man would have to be told to keep his mouth zipped behind enemy lines but never could be too safe. "_Bonjour_ Firebug," the Frenchman spoke up, though he didn't move to open the door, "'ow can we 'elp?" the muffled speech beyond the door had Alex squinting at it, clearly straining his ears and trying to focus on making out what was being said.  
"Ahh... _Non_. Just too lazy to get up. We are both fine, _merci_." there were more words and what sounded like a soft whine, a noise that made Remmy snort and roll her eyes.  
"Match, pretty sure I saw a Spy trying to sneak into the base a minute ago. Fry the tosser." Remmy called over her shoulder. That got a pretty enthusiastic "On it!" type of gas-mask muffled sound in return and then the taps of someone going back down the steps.  
"Well that is one way to get rid of 'im." Alex noted.

The only time Alex moved was when he got up to approach the workbench pressed against the wall, checking in drawers until he found the spare scope. Dust was blown off it and he wiped the rest away on his shirt, returning to the gun. Now it was mostly reassembled, minus the internally broken scope that was off to the side. When he had taken it off there had been a very distinct sound of broken glass from within so that was most certainly on him. His fault. Whoops. But the scope was an easy replacement and finally, AT LAST, he was done. Alex hefted the gun up, holding it all wrong by the way he was a Spy not a Sniper, but faced the empty gun at a wall and peered down the scope. Not broken and the laser worked, perfect.

"_Très bien_." he looked at Charles, opened his mouth to speak, but was promptly cut off by a gratingly familiar voice over the comms:

"Ceasefire! Fighting is done for the day."

"Even better, perfect timing." he looked at Charles, motioning him to follow, "Come on _Nathan_, let's get you out of 'ere." they would have one whole stop, and that would be to grab the discarded guns. Charles was handed all three of them and at the door Alex pulled on his mask. "Granted it is ceasefire I do not trust some of our more... aggressive team mates to let you leave peacefully if they see you. I will get you out the back way, just follow." a wave was given to Remmy over his shoulder before he popped the door and led the way out.

Down the steps he went and paused just before a turn around a corner, leaning to listen to all the footsteps and chatter going by. It took a good few moments for it to stop but when it did he poked his head out first, double checked, and gave the all clear before moving forward into the hall. "I was going to bring this back to you with a beer as a peace offering," he informed his misnamed Sniper, "But you beat me to the punch. I do not know if brazenly charging into the enemy base is the most brave or most stupid thing to do." said the man that _snuck_ into the enemy base on the daily. He shouldered the large heavy door open and stepped outside, enjoying his breath of fresh air. "Well 'ere you are, uhhh... _Randal_. Freedom." he was running out of fake names, somehow.

Eventually, Charles did sit. He chose a crate on the less lived-in side of the room, pointedly distancing from the REDs but still clearly intent on watching Alex. He could not quite shake the awkwardness of scrutinizing another man working on his gun, fingers twitching every so often on his steadily-dwindling cup of tea, but he did not interrupt. The other Sniper still plinking away at the battlefield outside -- and he did envy that -- only added to the ambience that almost, _almost_ could have been companionable if he didn’t utterly hate these people he was now spending an inordinately peaceful amount of time with.

But if there was one thing on this earth Charles excelled at, it was blending into silence and tedium with tireless patience. So this uneasy truce would last, so long as he could remain withdrawn from them, fantasizing about their deaths but as outwardly passive as could be. 

He’d been startled alongside them with the knocking at the door, but of _course_ the captive’s reaction had been a little more intense: Charles was instantly back on his feet, hand at his kukri, fully expecting this interruption to be the moment the REDs showed their true colors, so to speak. Imagine his surprise when all he got was a silent hushing in return from the Spy. The look Charles gave in response was anything but obedient, but… he stayed quiet, all right.

Once he realized that was almost certainly a _Pyro_ on the other side of the door, Charles had been unable to suppress the shudder that gripped his hunched frame. Seemed his first death had left more of an impression than he was ready to contend with. Only when this ‘Match’ departed did he sit back down, though there was a perceptible change in the BLU Sniper’s manner after that. Surely, Remmy was only lying about seeing a Spy. Surely.

The rest of the time passed without incident, sure, but Charles was downright dour once Alex finished with his rifle. Not only for just how much he hated seeing anyone handling his favorite weapon, much less a RED, but -- well, without a task to focus on, he’d hate for Alex to turn his attention back onto him. 

So the timing _really_ was perfect when ceasefire was called. Felt too good to be true, even; Charles wouldn’t have believed it would be as simple as that to get the weapons back, if not for feeling the familiar cold weight of his rifle in hand for himself. It was hard not to start feeling giddy with the relief of it and, present company be damned, he was going to have his moment. Cradling the rifle, he traced a finger down the barrel, following the curve of the stock with a low and shameless purr, “Darlin’, I missed you.”

It’s true what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder. You never realize how good you’ve got it until it’s gone. All that crap, it was true. And with that little reunion over, Charles slipped the rifle strap over his head, securing his main weapon to his back. The other two guns he accepted with no fanfare or ceremony -- just a brief prickle of annoyance that he’d have to seek Polo out to give him back his revolver, if the BLU Spy didn’t get to him first. 

But never mind that for now. Charles had gone from functionally useless with just a blade, to triple-wielding guns like a badass, if not somewhat awkwardly. The temptation to drop the RED certainly occurred to him, if only to get Alex to _stop_ with that revolving-name nonsense he probably thought was so cute and clever, but he wasn’t about to test the consequences of breaking ceasefire. Also, _he was so close_.

Naturally, Charles gave no parting words to the other Sniper except maybe a private ‘fuck you’ in his thoughts again. For how eager he was to escape, he shadowed Alex _very_ closely, ears just as attuned to any sound of the enemy REDs but giving no acknowledgment that he was listening to the man himself. Funny, how many times had he been led about by Spies today? Well. Better to be behind a Spy than in front of one, he supposed. 

Maybe it would surprise Alex that Charles did not immediately make a break for it the second the door was open to him, the way an animal freed from its cage took to the wilderness. He stepped out with the RED Spy, sure, surveying the now-eerily still saw mill at his side. But evidently, he had more parting words for Alex than just a simple ‘fuck you’ too -- though that sentiment was clear in his tone as he began.

“...A ‘peace offering’. You’re out your mind,” Charles growled, regarding his _former_ captor with a sneer of open contempt. Why not? The man had seen too many other emotions, when Charles was usually so good at tamping them down. This one, this hate, it felt good to express. His words came so much easier when it was backed up by disdain. “Never. You’ll never get a chance like this again. I’m not playin’ your games.”

If Alex was in the habit of tossing weapons about willy-nilly to disarm opponents, a clear trend was surfacing in Charles, too: with a particularly noxious snort preceding, he spat at the Spy’s shoe. And god, he hadn’t noticed until now how ridiculous the man’s choice in shoes. His spitting aim was just as good as his shooting, he liked to think, but Charles didn’t pause to check if his insult hit home.

He turned on his heel and ran. If Alex had any retorts, it’d have to be shouted at the Sniper’s quickly-fleeing back because he was _gunning it_ for home base, quite literally for how many guns he carried on him, but that was just testament to how brave and not at all stupid this mission had been.

That was about the reaction he had expected given all that he had seen of the BLU thus far. Alex merely rolled his eyes at the display of macho disdain and a spit - really? spitting? Was this Sniper five years old - before said Sniper turned tail and booked it. There was a tiny, a small little voice at the back of his head that caused a cruel twitch of the corner of his lips.

_Who looked pathetic now, Sniper._

However, that voice was easy to smother down and he merely let out a laugh, turning on a heel. "_Bonne nuit!_" he called over his shoulder as he pushed the door leading back inside, "I'll see you tomorrow, 'andsome." was pitched much lower and entirely to himself.

What an exciting partner to this game he had now.

**Author's Note:**

> We've taken the idea of the respawn game mechanic and have included it in the writing process HOWEVER. Repsawning frequently can be very bad for the mercenaries and can range anywhere from having their employer look more closely at their work, to suffering "respawn sickness", extra/missing body parts, scrambled memories etc etc. At times, respawning doesn't work at all and makes every shot that much more dangerous.  
Their "jobs" are considered 9-5, Monday through Friday kind of jobs where the mercenaries report to the designated battlefield and duke it out for 8 hours before ceasefire is called and they can safely return to their own bases for the evening. Respawn does not work outside of these hours, however killing during ceasefire is considered a very, very big no-no and heavily frowned upon.


End file.
